FIND HIM
by mgmerlin
Summary: Albus Dumbledore is walking slowly through the quiet hallways of Hogwarts one early morning. He is a dying man with only one more task to complete...
1. TO FIND A HERO

**CHAPTER 1: TO FIND A HERO**

Harry Potter had first been found in what was left of James and Lily's cottage in Godric's Hollow. For Albus Dumbledore, a man over the age of 150, that day seemed so long ago now, that day when he had made the fateful decision to entrust the now parentless baby into the care of his Aunt and Uncle. Finding himself thinking hard about that choice he made a little over sixteen and a half years ago, slowly walking through the empty, echoing halls of Hogwarts Castle – the soft tap, tap of his cane on the bare floors the only sound – Albus kept asking himself, "Was that the right decision?" No matter how often he asked it, and no matter how many times he pondered on the years of neglect young Harry had endured growing up, he always came to the same conclusion: it was the right thing to do. Especially now, when it was all finally over.

As soon as Severus had spoken the password and walked up to his office that much was clear. The Potions Master had only to point at his bare forearm, the forearm where the Dark Mark had until today been brutally branded into the skin, and all was known. The Dark Lord was dead. Harry Potter had triumphed. But was he to survive his victory, because the young man known as the Boy-Who-Lived was nowhere to be found?

As he walked slowly up to the Owlery, the venerable old Headmaster mused to himself that it wasn't often that he was left in the dark, but now was such a case. His protégé had vanished from the school grounds nearly forty-eight hours ago and still there was still nothing to add to his disappearance. Only that somehow he had found and faced his nemesis for a final time and had come out the victor. But at what price? Had he sacrificed his own life so that everyone else could live? Was he alone in the wilderness somewhere, far from aid, his life ebbing slowly away? Or had he just up and left, turned his back on the world he had re-entered over seven years ago? No. Albus was adamant that Harry would not do such a thing. He was too strong, too noble to abandon his friends. He needed them. He needed them to find him.

Harry had left for them, Albus was sure. He would not have gone for himself, nor for revenge for Sirius, or for his parents - Harry was not a vindictive person. No, he had gone because it was just the right thing to do; to give everyone else the best chance of survival by not having them present at the final, climactic battle, a battle that Albus had never doubted that Harry would emerge from victorious.

The old man stopped for a moment to catch his breath. No, he was lying – there was always that tiny seed of doubt in his mind that Tom Riddle had become too powerful for anyone to overcome. He had feared during those ten years between that fateful Halloween and young Harry's arrival at Hogwarts that if the killing curse hadn't destroyed the Dark Lord, nothing could. But his doubts had slowly ebbed away as this tiny, scrawny, dishevelled young boy began to grow into the man he would become, as he began to find the strength within that would carry him through the task that fate had so clearly laid upon his head. Albus had watched Harry from afar, had seen him show the increasing signs of the truly great wizard that he would undoubtedly become. Entering the chamber down in the depths of the castle seven years ago he had been shocked at what he saw: this tiny little boy hanging on for dear life, using the protection his mother had given him to ward off Voldemort once more, refusing to lie down and die. He was 11 years old and showed no fear, or at least he had instinctively learnt to master it, as fear must be. This shy, reserved young man had stood alone in protecting the Philosopher's Stone and he had succeeded. Albus knew at that point, when the once mighty Lord Voldemort fled from the broken body of the naïve Quirinus Quirrel, that Harry had found his strength and that he would never lose, that Harry did not believe in failure.

Seeing Harry stand limply before Tom Riddle in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic had disturbed him though. Albus had come to the sudden realisation that his unshakeable belief in the Prophecy was no longer a protection as it had been while Riddle remained powerless; he had found out that fateful night that his faith in Harry could easily be deemed irrational. Tom had been within a second of achieving immortality and it was simply because Harry was not ready, because he had not been prepared. Albus had found his weakness that night: his heart.

He was not going to make the same mistake again. He was not going to allow his feelings to get in the way any longer, or to cloud his judgement. He was never going to gift Tom such an easy path to victory ever again. Upon Harry's arrival for his sixth year the young man had immediately began to undergo extensive training and preparation. Once they had rebuilt the bridge between them, Albus had been stunned at his protégé's progress; Harry was nothing short of extraordinary – the power in his spells once he had learnt to focus his emotions into them was nothing short of astonishing for a sixteen year old student; his instinctive reaction times were uncanny, beyond compare. Suddenly Albus realised that once Harry put his mind to something he was not only a quick learner, he was simply unstoppable.

It was fortunate the young man was too because it was just over a year ago now when Tom had ambushed Harry in Hogsmeade in full force. Luckily he himself had been on hand to challenge Tom, but age and time – those perennial stalkers – had finally caught up with and found this old, old man. Harry had bravely duelled with Tom for several moments before he arrived, but Albus for once had decided to not rely on the Prophecy. He had put his trust and faith into its words for so long; for too long, he thought. He had been found out as foolish and hasty to believe that a few sentences from the lips of Sybil Trelawney could mean so much. Albus had challenged fate in the cobbled streets of Hogsmeade and had intervened, entering the fray with the direct intent to destroy Tom Riddle once and for all. It was a decision that nearly cost him his life. The two of them – master and pupil – fought against Tom together, but it was clear to all three parties that the master, Albus Dumbledore, was no longer the most powerful wizard in the world, that for some inexplicable reason he was beginning to struggle in the duel. It was as if fate itself was thinning his thread that day, pulling him back from a contest in which he did not belong anymore, punishing him for his impudence, for his nerve to challenge what was written.

He had almost died that day. As his magical shields faltered under the sheer weight of the Dark Lord's spells, the Boy-Who-Lived had taken the fateful decision to stand in front of him and face his nemesis alone. It was, however, a decision that he made a split second too late because Albus had been struck with a curse that threw him backwards through the air with such force that when he landed the impact nearly broke his body in two.

He had to pause once more to catch his breath as he headed up yet another flight of stairs. He had never fully recovered – as testified by the cane he still had to use to walk with. Harry though didn't need time to recover that day, not physically at least. He had found the power to force the Dark Lord back. In his own words he had been lucky, but Albus did not believe in luck. Harry was well aware of Tom's weaknesses and had taken advantage of one of them. Harry had found his true power a year ago. Yet, even though Tom had been stabbed through the chest with Godric Gryfinndor's sword it still wasn't enough to kill him. Albus had been told by several eyewitnesses that Harry had used such force that he had driven it right through up to the hilt, and then pulled it out just as quickly, but Tom still hadn't died – he had used a Portkey to escape just in time; he had 'fled with one almigh'y hole in his stomach', Hagrid had so eloquently informed him. What Harry had done was enough though; he had been around to 'save the day' once more.

And now he had done it yet again. This young man had apparently decided that enough was enough, that he would not allow another innocent to die while he hid within the safety of the castle, and so he had gone out to find Tom and destroy him. It had worked. He had been reckless, foolhardy as always, but this time Harry had the capability to not just rely on fortune alone - he had found his courage at 11, he had found his true strength over the last seven years, and Albus now found that Harry had won.

That win was not going to be for nothing though. More than anyone this young, much maligned man deserved to live, and Albus was determined to give it to him. He deserved to find happiness and joy, he deserved to find everything that had been starved from him all of his seventeen years. Today Albus Dumbledore prayed that Harry Potter would be found so that he could get what he had fought so hard for, and there was only one that could find him now.

He opened the door to the Owlery gingerly; his ascent up to the top of the tower had weakened him considerably, his breaths rasping in and out of his tired lungs. He stopped momentarily with his hands upon his knees to try and recuperate. There had been an uncountable number of days when all he would do was walk serenely around the corridors and hallways of the castle, or pace up and down his study continuously. Those days were behind him now. There weren't too many left before him either.

Slowly he straightened his back with a grunt and searched around for who he was looking for. It didn't take long to find her – it was hard not to notice such a distinctive owl. She stood proud and elegant on one of the perches above him, but once they made eye contact she swooped low and landed before him, softly cuffing him on the forearm with her wing as she swept past. She remained stoically still on her new perch as Albus smiled thinly and regarded her for a moment or two. Hagrid had made a good choice. She was so calm, so focused upon her one task: to serve her master. Yes indeed, Hagrid had found a brilliantly white gem in Diagon Alley on Harry's birthday - so graceful, and at times apparently as stubborn as a mule, but most of all Albus could clearly see intelligence in her large, round eyes. It was as if she already knew what was going to be asked of her, that she was never going to be given a task as important as this one.

Finally Albus stepped forward and began to stroke her feathers slowly, respectfully with his left hand. He kept his eyes focused upon hers momentarily before he drew his wand and pointed it towards her midriff. He placed a tracking charm upon her and then softly patted her head.

No words needed to be spoken. Albus knew that she was well aware of what was being asked of her. She gently nipped his ear with her beak and then flew out of the window without a glance back; and as Albus watched her take flight, he knew that just like her master she would succeed, that she simply did not believe in failure.

As he stood to look upon the first flickers of light appearing upon the horizon between the Highland hills, Albus knew he would not see such sights for much longer. He had lived a long and fruitful life and wasn't sad now that he knew his time was winding down. He had decided to announce his retirement before the year's end, but first he wanted to tell Harry. He just wanted to tell the student he regarded as family that he could not be prouder of the man he had seen before him these last few months, that he now knew that in Harry's hands society could be protected from the Tom Riddle's of the world. Albus was too old and weary to do it any longer, but Harry was now ready to take on this challenge, and to find the happiness that life can bring. Which is why Albus' voice was firm and resolute when he spoke words to himself that echoed into the darkness of the Owlery behind him, words he prayed with all the broken strength he had left would come true:

"Find him Hedwig."


	2. IT WAS THE BEST OF TIMES

**CHAPTER TWO: IT WAS THE BEST OF TIMES…**

Andy Meadows always found a quiet drive in the countryside a good way to relax, a good way to find some piece and quiet away from the hectic hustle and bustle of the city. Every Sunday afternoon he'd grab the keys to his three year old Ford soft-top from next to the phone, leave his flat and head out into the middle of nowhere for a good few hours. That was the good thing about living anywhere outside of London: within 30 minutes you could always find a way to get out into the open country.

Until last month his long-time girlfriend might have accompanied him, but seeing as they had decided to go their separate ways that was no longer an option. It still hurt like a bitch whenever he thought about it, but she'd been spending more and more time at work at the hospital, and Andy wasn't willing to be in a relationship where his own girlfriend never had the time or space for him. There was a time when Suzy had looked forward to the weekend trip into the countryside, but that time seemed so long ago now, a time when she hadn't been obsessed with her duties as a Nurse.

'Goddamn it!' he thought to himself. The drive was supposed to ease his tension, to relieve the stress, not make it worse.

He slowed down to take a hard right, just another of many on the long and winding country roads he loved so much. There was almost nothing out here. There were no high-rise buildings, no pollution, almost no sign of civilization; the rarefied atmosphere would blow soothingly into his face as he passed the time whipping along the roads at dangerous speeds, not giving a damn about the state of his life – stuck in a dead end job, no girlfriend anymore, an almost lifeless existence ticking away into a long, slow oblivion. On these roads all _that_ could be forgotten, left in the cloud of dust behind him, floating around in the city that had no place in his mind right now. All that mattered at this moment for Andy was pushing his Ford to go ever faster around the sharp, twisty bends, zipping through the countryside in blissful isolation, and keeping one eye on yet another stunning sunset taking place over to his left, the sun slowly sinking down behind the rolling hills. It was at times like this when all the unnecessary worries of his life could be lifted from his shoulders, when such words as stress, commitment and time truly held no meaning. This was what held his life in check now – the prospect of roaring along country lanes at the end of the weekend, savouring the moments when he could feast his eyes upon what nature had to offer – the untouched, unspoilt greenery, the gorgeous sunsets, and a great flash of pure white light coming from one of the fields about mile or so ahead.

He slammed onto the brakes. What in the name of hell was that? It had looked like some sort of explosion. Then there was another, and another. Flash upon flash. It wasn't just white either, there were a whole host of different colours; mostly green he noticed. They could have almost been mistaken for fireworks – all the colours reminded him of the joy of watching the black night sky erupt loudly into a marvellous array of dozens of wondrous, colourful patterns every Bonfire Night – but for some strange, inexplicable reason Andy knew these endless silent flashes were not fireworks; they were something else entirely. There was a queasy, uncertain feeling in his stomach, but he paid it no heed and he quickly made his mind up to see what this was all about.

No sooner had Andy started moving again when another pure white flash nearly blinded him it was so great. He slammed onto the brakes once more, the car sliding from side to side, tyres screeching loudly. He rubbed his closed eyes for a moment and then blinked furiously to try and remove the spots from his vision. He waited and waited for another flash of white but it never came. There was nothing. The birds had long ago stopped chirruping in their trees, but now even the wind had died down. He sped down the road, deciding that he had been wrong – they were only fireworks after all – but gradually an eerie white glow became noticeable, and it was coming from the same spot as those flashes. Andy brought his car back down to a safer speed and as he got closer he noticed that the glow had begun to brighten ever so slightly. He stopped the car when he was near enough to walk cautiously over to investigate.

At first glance there was nothing; just this strange, soft light, almost like there was a large, faint searchlight in the ground, gradually increasing in intensity. Ignoring any doubts or worries over what it might be he carried on moving towards it.

It was hard work walking over the fields as his ankles kept turning over in the clumps of shin high grass, but within moments the ground became easier to walk upon when he noticed that the grass had inexplicably thinned out. It looked slightly charred, like it had been burned away. Andy was really confused now, and the doubt gnawing away in the pit of his stomach refused to go away. He looked upon the now completely bare earth before him and asked himself, _'What the hell is going on? What has happened here?'_ Crop Circles came to mind, but Andy didn't believe in aliens and all that conspiracy crap.

Suddenly, he saw something on the ground a hundred feet or so in front of him – the ghostlike luminescence appeared to be emanating from whatever was lying there. The rational part of Andy's mind was again imploring to turn around, leave, never look back, but when had he ever listened to that part of his brain? He cautiously stepped forwards and approached. In the dusky light he couldn't make out what it was until he was much closer, but when he did his cautious steps turned into a full sprint. It was a figure dressed all in black; face down in the dirt. He penetrated the circle of light surrounding the body without a second thought and tentatively reached out with his hand towards what he guessed to be the figure's shoulder. As his fingers touched the dark, rough material the body twitched and Andy recoiled in shock.

He didn't know what to do. He'd learnt enough from Suzy over the years that if a person was motionless on the floor there was no knowing what type of injuries had been sustained; also that care should be taken in trying to move said person. However, when a low groan could plainly be heard coming from this body Andy decided to forget all advice and he turned him over.

It was a young man. He appeared to be around 18 years old or so, but it was hard to tell considering every inch of his face and neck was covered in either mud or blood, which meant that he was probably severely injured. Then as he felt more of the clothes the young man was wearing – some sort of robes, almost like a Halloween costume – Andy realised that there must have been even more, even worse, injuries on the man's body; the robes appeared to be saturated with blood.

Andy now found himself in a big bind. What the hell was he going to do now? He hadn't brought his mobile phone with him – not that it would have worked out here even if he had – and he couldn't see any way of helping this guy without either leaving him alone for God knows how long while he got help, or picking him up and carrying him to the car, which he simply did not want to risk doing, given the state of this guy. However, time was clearly of the essence and he had to do something. The problem was Andy didn't know what that something was.

He knelt down and softly said. "Are you alright mate?" Stupid question really. Of course this guy wasn't all right – he was lying in the middle of nowhere looking half dead! He paused for a moment as the prone figure opened his eyes, and stared blearily at him with a pair of shockingly green eyes that stood in stark contrast to the dirt, grime, and blood plastered all over his face.

Andy was about to ask another idiotic question, but the young man slowly opened his mouth and spoke hoarsely, "Is he… Is he…?"

"Is 'who'?" Andy asked, but his question was ignored.

"Is he….gone?"

"Gone? There's no one else here mate." The young man smiled briefly. "Listen why are you here?" Andy ploughed on. "Where are you hurt?" Again, a stupid question – he looked like he was hurt all over!

The young man didn't answer though. He spoke only two more words before he passed out. "Help me."

Andy's eyes widened. He began to panic, but forced his emotions to control themselves. He had to think quickly. There was only one option: he would have to forget about any possible repercussions and carry this guy to the car, regardless of all the blood and possible internal injuries he had sustained. He could no longer waste precious time mulling over all the possibilities, so he got onto his feet and prepared himself to crouch down and pick him up, but without warning, the stranger arched up horribly and emitted a blood-curdling scream that carried on into the wilderness.

Andy physically jumped back in fear. His eyes widened in complete shock and, had not the power of speech momentarily left him, he would have screamed himself. It was quite simply one of the most terrifying things he had seen his entire life. It should have been impossible for someone's back to bend so much, and the noise was nothing short of horrific. Andy brought his hands up to the side of his head to try and shield himself from the endless screaming, but as he did so the white glow returned in full force, and the intensity of it forced his eyes to close instinctively.

For once, Andy decided to trust the rational part of his brain; it was telling him to turn around and hightail it out of there and that's exactly what he chose to do. He turned his back on the staggering sight before him, and bolted it. He burst through the wall of light surrounding the two of them and ran faster than he had in years; or at least he would have done if not for the clumpy, uneven ground he quickly stumbled upon. He kept losing his balance as his ankles threatened to turn over, but Andy wasn't prepared to slow down. It cost him dear; his left ankle finally did what it had been threatening to do for several yards and collapsed. He landed hard on his side, winding himself in the process. Somehow he managed to completely ignore the pain and protests of his body and staggered back to his feet, stumbling on back to his car. He could still hear the continual high-pitched scream coming from the stranger behind him – _'Didn't this guy need to breathe?'_ – but Andy tried to ignore it; all he could think about was getting in his car, driving away, and never telling anyone about what he had seen tonight.

After what seemed hours, but what was actually no more than a minute or two, he reached his Ford. He fumbled to open the door, but then realised he'd left the top down – _'Idiot!'_ – so vaulted onto the front seat. Once inside he frantically brought the roof of the car back up and then dropped his head in his hands, the steering wheel acting as some kind of a pillow.

"This is not happening!" he moaned to himself. "This is simply not happening!"

Yes, he didn't believe in aliens, but what other explanation could there be? After he had spent a minute or two fighting to regain his breath, and after he had calmed and composed himself somewhat – although he noticed it was a little warmer than usual in the car – he finally lifted his head and looked back in the direction where the stranger lay all alone. Only there was no chance he could see him now. He couldn't see _anything_ anymore. The white glow had brightened and expanded to such an extent that it was now encircling him; it had followed him back and now surrounded his car. It was all he could see, an abyss of pure white light. What the hell was going on?

Calm and composed went out of the window. Andy's heart began thumping frantically against his chest. His hands were shaking wildly. Sweat was pouring madly off of him. His breathing was bursting from his lungs in quick, short pants. He was jerking his head around in all directions, darting his dilated eyes around like he was mad. He _was_ going mad. There was no other explanation.

He was more scared now than he had ever been before and was growing dizzy with the knowledge of it. He stopped his wild movements and closed his eyes to try and stop his mind from moving in circles, but the dizziness didn't abate, it grew and it grew. He felt as if he was rocking and rolling violently from side to side, up and down like he was on a small boat in the fiercest of storms. He tried to reopen his eyes, but he found himself unable to do so.

He couldn't breathe. The heat was pressing down upon his chest, suffocating him. A thought flashed blearily through his bewildered mind: what heat? Amazingly, he managed to forge an answer despite the forced tiredness fogging his mind – whatever that silent white light was outside the car, whatever it was emanating from the screaming stranger, was affecting him, smothering him.

Killing him.

In that moment everything became terrifyingly clear to him; the fog cruelly lifted from his head and he realised he was about to die. The final few seconds of his time were ticking away. He tried to scream, but his lungs had no life left within them, no precious air remained to exhale. Everything was being squeezed out of his body – as if Death itself had its long, skeletal fingers around his midriff, crushing him – and slowly, ever so slowly, the barren, bright, white light behind his closed eyes was replaced by utter blackness.


	3. GIVE AND TAKE

**CHAPTER THREE: GIVE AND TAKE**

It was unbearable not knowing. How could she be expected to just sit here, hoping against hope that Harry would turn up alive? How could he have been so ignorant to just leave on his own, unexpected and without a single word of warning to his friends? He had left everyone in the dark with his actions. He had been stupid and selfish.

But she couldn't hate him. She looked across at Ron and Hermione, at Neville and Luna, and saw the pain and fear in their faces. She could note the betrayal in their eyes – a look more than likely reflected in her own. Harry had betrayed them. They had all sworn to stick together, to always be by each others' side. Words had not been needed for such a declaration; they all knew. Harry had broken that unspoken vow, but she couldn't hate him for it.

She turned to Neville. He gave her a warm smile. Neville was strong. Neville had faith. He believed in Harry. She had seen it for over two years now – Neville looked up to Harry. Even now, in the midst of his disappearance, Neville had complete trust in his friend. She couldn't help but smile back.

"You do know why he did it, don't you?"

She nodded weakly. It was obvious why Harry had left without a word: to keep them safe. Stupid boy. He had gone because he was the only one who could finish it, the only one who could destroy Riddle once and for all. Stupid, selfless, wonderful young man.

"He'll do it Ginny. He'll pull through." Neville spoke firmly. "He doesn't know how to fail." She looked deeply into his eyes. There wasn't a hint of a lie, not the merest shade of disbelief. It warmed her in a way the roaring fire they had Required couldn't. Neville was right. Harry would not lose.

A warm comfortable feeling began to flow from the very centre of her being. She thought at first that Neville was the cause of it, but he wasn't. It was a feeling she had ignored for too long, a knowledge she had buried as deep as it could go. But now it was resurfacing. It began to flow freely in her veins, forcing past the dam Ginny had built to hold it back.

It was Harry.

She looked wildly around her. The other four – Ron, Hermione, Neville and Luna – they had the same expression on their faces, of confusion and awe. They felt it too. But for her it was all-consuming. Harry was calling out to them, but to her the strongest. The bond between them sprang suddenly to life, a bond they had unknowingly shared ever since he had saved her life. She could feel it; it had opened its wings and was flying within her.

She gasped loudly and the others turned their attention to her. She felt powerful, wonderful. A purity she had never felt was pouring through her. She knew what was happening. Harry was taking something from her, from all of them. She looked over to her brother. Yes, there was something in his eyes, something transparent. She could see the strong bond of friendship. It was the same in all of them. But for her it was different. The purity was overwhelming. She looked at her hands – they were glowing. Her skin was prickling with magic. It was all too much, but it was joyous. Whatever it was, she knew it wasn't dangerous – it felt right. It felt good.

Everything clicked. Harry had told them the words of the Prophecy several months ago. This was it; this was _the power the Dark Lord knows not_. Harry was using it now. He was taking it from them.

No, he was asking them for it. She opened herself up to him. She saw Ron rise from his chair – he was looking at her in wonderment. She could tell she was suffused in an extraordinary white glow, but all her energy was in giving herself over to Harry. Whatever he needed he could take. The purity within her burst forth anew. She could feel him. He was in the room. He was all around her, taking from her, drawing out the power he needed from all five of them, but from her most of all.

Ginny smiled at her brother, and collapsed.

It had been mid-evening when the Mark had burnt. He hated the powerlessness of it. He hated the prison that the Mark created. But he had made his choice. He had to live it.

He tried to stand tall. He wanted so much to not be afraid. He wanted to feel powerful, to be something he had never been, something he never would be. But he couldn't. Not at school. Not with his friends. Not here kneeling at Terror himself.

The Dark Lord looked happy. More than happy even. His master was delirious with pleasure, and it was truly frightening. The mania. The insanity. The power. It made him shake in fear.

Why couldn't he be strong? Why couldn't he be confident or brave? He was none of these things. Yet, he had been placed in Gryffindor. Why? Was it some sick joke of the Sorting Hat? Had it found none of the qualities that suited any of the houses? He wasn't smart. He wasn't loyal. He wasn't cunning. Why Gryffindor? Why the house of the brave and true when all he did in the presence of the Dark Lord was feel an incalculable level of horror and unfathomable fear?

He tried to shake himself free of such thoughts. Looking around, it was clear one was missing. The red eyes pierced the souls of all, one by one. He could feel the dread welling up inside of him. Someone was about to suffer greatly. He prayed it wouldn't be him. Yet, there was also some sick, sadistic glimmer in him, some hope that Malfoy would appear soon. The arrogant bastard was late, which meant he would feel his master's wrath.

He got his wish. Malfoy arrived. Only he landed face first on the ground, his long blonde hair splayed about him. There was an intake of breath from everyone. Malfoy was bound, unable to move. He looked dead, but the man's moan of pain at having hit the hard ground could plainly be heard.

In disbelief, he looked to the Dark Lord. Even Terror himself looked shocked, stunned. But, while everyone else remained motionless, speechless behind their masks, his master had his wand out and was moving forward.

"_Accio!"_

A single word that cut through the tension, that shook in the silence. His master was pulled through the air to a point just before Malfoy's prone body, and promptly disappeared.

No one moved for a second. Then: uproar. Their master had vanished. Confusion swept through his fellow Death Eaters. Some of the senior ones began to bark out orders, but he didn't move. He stared at the spot where the Dark Lord had disappeared. He had been taken – that much was obvious – but by whom? Who was daring enough to take on the most powerful wizard in the world? Who was foolishly brave enough to take on you-know-who alone?

He racked his brain, singled out the solitary word, the single command. It came to him. He recognised the voice behind the summoning charm. It had been the boy. Prongs' son.

Harry Potter. The boy-who-lived had been here. Ridiculous. Impossible.

Undeniable.

He was afraid now. If Potter could get at his master, what could stop him from coming after him, avenging the betrayal? What was going to happen now? Would the boy defeat the Dark Lord? Could Harry overcome what he himself had never been able to?

After several minutes of complete chaos in the chamber – Death Eaters running around in bewilderment – he began to sense something. It was in the pit of his stomach. He sat slowly down on the ground and concentrated. If felt vaguely like cramp, or a tiny fluttering of hunger, but it was definitely neither of these things. What was it? It was beginning to grow, spreading unbidden. Then he knew. How, he didn't know, but he recognised it for what it was. He welcomed it. He began to grow light-headed, this drug flowing through him was making him dizzy, but he didn't care.

One of the Death Eaters kicked him. Faintly, he could hear some kind of command, but it was muffled and besides, it didn't matter. He didn't have to take their orders anymore. He wasn't weak. He wasn't feeble any longer. There was a power within him now. He looked up into the eyes above him, smiled, and keeled over.

He wasn't afraid anymore.

Over fields and hills; over lakes and rivers; through wind and through rain. There were no obstacles to her; nothing was going to stop her. She could feel the connection that bound them together. His magic was strong, so unbelievably intense, and she was attuned perfectly to it. She knew where he was, like an invisible straight thread that stretched for mile upon mile to the south. It wouldn't take long.

It had been a strange couple of days. Then again, strange things seemed to be ever attracted to her master. Accepting it was part and parcel of being his companion. He was strange himself, different than anyone else, unique. He was a part of her, had been ever since the giant man had handed her over. Always she had felt his presence, like a second heart beating in her chest. It was strong now, potent and deep, but not so long ago it had vanished from her for an infinitesimal moment. Then it had returned fiercer than ever before, even more so than earlier on that day when his magic had been so prevalent and tangible her feathers had ruffled. She knew he was stronger than anyone else of his kind, but never had she felt so close to him then.

She had been bouncing around the rafters for hours, trying to calm her nerves, attempting to distance her agitation from the inordinate power coursing through him, pulsing down the thread that bound her to her master. She would never admit it, but she had acted like that little fur ball the redhead friend owned, zooming around excitedly, unable to pause or catch her breath. Eventually, when the excitement just would not go away, she had decided to head out into the daytime breeze and spend her seemingly limitless energy hunting. She could feel it intensify as she had caught prey after prey; his power grew and grew.

But then, as the great light had begun to set, she had felt the presence of him suddenly begin to fade. She had become afraid for him as it lessened and lessened to a level it had never reached. Hunting was impossible knowing she was struggling to sense the beating of his magic within her. She had flown back to her perch amongst her kind and had tried to focus upon him. She had closed her eyes and reached out for him like she never had before.

For the briefest of moments he had disappeared completely from her, leaving her bereft and despairing. But her worries had faded instantly when he returned in full force. It had been different this time though – even stronger! She knew it should have been impossible for one of her kind to be so connected to him, to feel a power beyond reckoning, but it was there nonetheless. Immobile on her perch, the sense of him had saturated her entire being, and all she could do was absorb his magic, relish in the feeling that even if he wasn't safe, he soon would be. He wasn't giving in, he was fighting against Death and he was winning, taking power from all around, from the earth and from the air; he was taking strength from her. She gave willingly.

Flying south now, she knew her master never lost, never gave up hope. She would not fail him now. When the old, dying man had crept into the room before anyone else had awakened she knew what he was there for. He was obviously afraid, but she had comforted him. There was no need to be afraid. Not anymore.

Past forests and towns she flew, confident that he was getting closer and closer. There was no need for rest or food; she took her strength from him now. He needed her. She could sense his struggle – determined and unwavering against the blackness. She had to be there to help him pull through. She soared on through the air, as fast she could go. There was no stopping her now.

The great light had returned fully now, but she ignored it. There was only him in her mind. The invisible thread that showed the way pulled her along. Yes, he was close now. He was there, over the hill ahead. There was no time to pause in her flight when he was so near. She swooped low to gain some speed, feeling the strain of the wind on her wings; faster and faster she went. Even though she could feel him she had to see him. She worried for him and until she laid her eyes on him she would not be satisfied. She would always be there for him.


	4. FOR HIS OWN GOOD

**CHAPTER 4: FOR HIS OWN GOOD**

A/N: This is an incredibly short chapter. I had intended it to be only the first part of chapter 4, but seeing as I'm struggling to write the rest - it WILL BE from Harry's POV - I decided to post this separately, even though it is nowhere near long enough. Don't expect future updates to be this quick though

He shouldn't be doing this. Harry Potter told him to keep quiet, to tell no one. But Harry Potter is not here. The rumours are everywhere. Gossip has spread like the fire about his disappearance and nowhere is gossip more loud and more extreme than in the kitchens of Hogwarts.

He can not stand it anymore. The untruths he has been hearing all the time; the natural feeling that he should bang his head on every solid surface he sees – punishment for what he has done. But Harry Potter tells him not to. Harry Potter orders him to act like nothing has happened. And so he has. He has ignored the gossip, has turned a large, deaf ear to all the questions and rumours, but he can not stand it anymore.

He knocks on the large door in front of him. A pause. Then: "Enter." The doorknob is too high up for him to reach so he opens the door with a tiny burst of magic and tiptoes into the large, awe-inspiring Headmaster's Office. He can not help but notice the quick look of surprise and confusion, but Headmaster Dumbledore recovers quicker than anyone. The many portraits stare in bewilderment and amusement, disdain and derision, but not Headmaster Albus Dumbledore - he is a truly great wizard. Just like Harry Potter.

"Ah, Master Dobby." His heart leaps; Headmaster Dumbledore is too kind to call him 'Master'. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

He cringes. His legs shake. Harry Potter tells him not to say, but he has to! It is for Harry Potter's own good.

"Would you care for a Lemon Drop?"

He shakes his head quickly. He can not stop the tears forming in his large eyes. Headmaster Dumbledore is offering him food like an equal!

"Would you like to at least sit down?"

It is too much. He runs forward to the desk and begins to bang his head on thehard, smoothsurface of the wooden legbefore him. He is betraying Harry Potter: the first wizard to ever ask him to sit down. He is bad. Very Bad. _"Bad Dobby!"_

He is grabbed by the shoulders. Even at such an old age, Headmaster Dumbledore moves quicker than most. Even when so old and not so well. Headmaster Dumbledore is truly the greatest wizard in the world. Except for Harry Potter…

He bangs his head once more on the desk support. _"Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!"_

"Dobby! Stop!" At Headmaster Dumbledore's order he becomes still, although his vision swims before him. He feels woozy. "Now, Dobby, please sit down." He begins to protest; he is not worthy enough to sit on one of Headmaster Dumbledore's chairs. "Dobby, sit down." He blinks away the tears from his eyes and climbs onto the lush, colourful, all-together too luxuriant chair offered to him. Headmaster Dumbledore is too kind.

Headmaster Dumbledore stares at him in silence for a moment or two. It is unbearable. He moves to grab one of the heavy bright objects on the desk in front. "No Dobby. You will not harm yourself." He looks up to the blue eyes behind the funny-shaped spectacles. Headmaster Dumbledore is cleverest. He is brilliantest!

"Dobby will do as great Headmaster Dumbledore requests," he says timidly.

Headmaster Dumbledore smiles; such a wonderful smile it is. "Dobby, do you want to hurt yourself?" He is confused by the question. He answers slowly. "Dobby must do what he deserves. Dobby deserves punishment."

Headmaster Dumbledore leans forward. He speaks clearly. "If you had the choice, would you hurt yourself?" He is without the words. Choice? Dobby doesn't have choice. "You are free are you not? I have explained this before, Master Dobby: _you_ have the choice whether you want to work here at Hogwarts or not. It is _you _who chooses whether _you_ have to punish yourself in such a way. No one chooses for you. Now, do you want to hurt yourself?"

Headmaster Dumbledore is so smart. He is most wisest. He cannot look Headmaster Dumbledore in the eyes. He shakes his head as tears begin to fall once more. "Of course you don't. Now, I wonder why you are here." Headmaster Dumbledore leans back into his chair. "Is there something you wish to tell me?" He nods his head quickly. His hand twitches towards the heavy object before him, but he does not want to hurt himself. It is for Harry Potter's own good.

Headmaster Dumbledore does not respond. He wants Dobby to speak. Dobby shakes and stutters. It is for Harry Potter's own good! "Harry Potter comes to the kitchens to talk to Dobby, Headmaster Dumbledore sir." His voice wavers.

Headmaster Dumbledore's gaze is deep. "And?"

"Harry Potter asks Dobby for a favour." Bad Dobby! Harry Potter tells Dobby to tell no one. It is for Harry Potter's own good! "Harry Potter wanted Dobby to – to…"

Headmaster Dumbledore leans forward once more "What did he want Dobby?"

"It is impossible for a wizard, Headmaster Dumbledore sir. Not even Harry Potter is powerful enough to get undetected into – into…"

"Into where Dobby?"

It is for Harry Potter's own good! "Harry Potter wanted to –" Bad Dobby! His own good! "Harry Potter wanted Dobby's former master, Headmaster Dumbledore sir. Harry Potter wanted the Mark of _He Who Must Not Be Named_."

He cannot resist it and he lunges for the bright, heavy object. Headmaster Dumbledore is too fast and with one hand moves the object out of reach. With the other he grabs Dobby's hand and holds it firmly. "What did you do Dobby?"

He has to answer. For his own good! "Dobby knows how to get into evil Manor. Dobby does what Harry Potter could not."

A/N Suprisingly this took me barely any time to write at all. I'm usually such a perfectionist. Perhaps the change in style was helpful? As I hope you can now tell, every chapter is a piece of a puzzle. Can you guess what Dobby did? Of course you can and you're going to tell me in your reviews, aren't you?


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